yesterday we were just children playing soldiers
by velvet magnolias
Summary: But mostly it was just you; scared, young, and all too human Lily Potter looking for a way to cleanse your dirty, tainted, broken soul / drabble. rated M to be safe.


A/N: _This is just something different I'm trying, because I've always loved reading second POVs stories and have always wanted to give them a try myself but mostly because I'm stuck in a small town with limited wifi and I'm bored out of my mind and can't seem to gather enough inspiration to try and finish my other stories._

 _Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

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 ** _yesterday we were just children playing soldiers_**

You know what the history books will say about you.

They'll talk about you, heroic and brave until the very end, their own Muggleborn Gryffindor princess-turned-soldier, praise you for the way you rose up to meet your destiny, to alter the path of Fate, gave up your own life to save your own son.

To save _them_.

They won't mention the way you washed your hands constantly as if that could get rid of the blood on your hands, as if that could erase all the people you killed, the people you hurt-some innocent, most not so much, but human all the same.

Some people may be Dark, some Light, some a murky combination of both, but in the end they all bleed red, you've found.

They'll conveniently forget that you were just a teenager, not yet an adult, when you were thrust in a war being fought for people like you, because of people like you, as if your heritage was your fault, as if being a Muggleborn-being a _Mudblood_ was a crime you had to do penance for.

They won't mention the way James would sometimes drag you out to a Muggle club on those rare nights where the Order didn't need you, when Dumbledore didn't need you to act as pawns to his twisted game and you'd both get drunk off cheap liquor and each other, the way you'd drag him out to some dingy corner and pull him into the darkness surrounding you until you both were a moaning, quivering mess and the only thing on your mind, your lips was his name.

They'll never know about the tears you shed after you found out you were pregnant, of the way you cursed the world, the universe, the whole damn universe because you were just a child, a goddamn child having another child, bringing them into a world where they'd be hated the instant they took their first gulp of breath for simply being.

They'll forget to mention the way you cried and yelled and screamed that first night, that night when you learned of the prophecy, tears of anger and rage and fear, as you completely destroyed your own home because it wasn't fair, nothing in this goddamn world was fair and if you've ever hated magic it was now, hated the whole lot of them, thinking they were so much better than the rest of the world and you almost wished you'd never known, could have remained a naive unsuspecting Muggle because what good was magic to you if you were being condemned for it, if your child would be forced to pay the price?

They'll make no mention of the fact that James could only stand silently to the side, staring at you helplessly as your raged.

No one will ever now of the nights before and after that, when James held on to you and you clung on to him as if you both were the only thing keeping each other sane, keeping each other grounded, both of your ghosts circling around you, all the people you had killed and would kill haunting you.

They'll paint you as something holy instead, some mature, wise, fearless Gryffindor warrior who voluntarily gave up her life for her only son, for the cause.

So brave, so young, how _tragic_.

Because that's all your death will be to them, isn't it?

A tragic, tragic death of a brave soldier, a life so young, so full of potential, gone so soon.

There'll be tears shed, you know, by people who would have never cared about you otherwise, people who will claim to know you, have known you, and they'll tell stories, stories that paint you as a fearless warrior.

They'll never know that, in the end, death was an easy choice, the easiest choice you've ever made.

In the end, they'll never know it wasn't reckless bravery and love that caused you to jump in front of the man, wizard, serpent with the wand and your son.

Although in a way, you suppose, it was. Because if the history books get anything right, it's how much you loved, love, will forever love your son. You only wish the circumstances had been different.

But mostly it was just you, scared, young, and all too human Lily Potter looking for a way to cleanse your dirty, tainted, broken soul.

They'll never know that when the wand flashed green, all you could think was _free_.

In the end they'll never know that to you, death feels like an absolution.

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 _A/N: Soooo...review maybe?_


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